Amanda Grange: Pride and pyramids : Mr. Darcy in Egypt

“Your good health, Cousin. And now that you’ve admired my phaeton, expressed delight over Elizabeth’s garden, and enchanted my children, perhaps you should tell me more about your reason for being in London,” Darcy said.

“I am afraid you will disapprove,” said Edward with a rueful shake of the head.

“Does it have anything to do with Sir Matthew Rosen?” asked Darcy, as he took a seat and stretched his long legs out in front of him. He took a sip of brandy. “Sir Matthew has written some very interesting articles for The Times recently, and I hear he is trying to find more patrons for his Egyptian dig. In fact, I believe he is even willing to allow some enthusiasts to join his party—for a consideration, of course.”

Edward took a drink of brandy.

“I knew you would not approve,” he said.

“Perhaps not understand is closer to the mark. If you want to go then I cannot stop you, but think carefully before you commit yourself. Egypt is a long way from home if you change your mind.”

He was fond of Edward. More than fifteen years Edward’s senior, he felt like more of an uncle toward the young man than a cousin and he remembered Edward’s many boyhood enthusiasms with affection. They had come and gone like the will-o-the-wisp, full of movement and colour, but with the same ephemeral lifespan.

With the one exception of Egypt. Ever since he was five, when he had first heard his father talking about his trip to Egypt with Darcy’s father, Edward had been enthralled by the very mention of the place, and this was despite the fact that both men had returned from their ill-fated adventure being poorer and also worryingly ill with strange diseases.

Elizabeth was right , thought Darcy; enthral is a good word. It is as though they are bewitched by the place. Edward has never even been, and yet his eyes light up at the thought of it .

“Luncheon will be ready shortly,” Elizabeth announced, walking into the room.

“I was just asking Edward what his plans are while he is in London,” Darcy said as he got up and poured her a glass of ratafia.

“Tell us all about it,” Elizabeth said, spreading the skirt of her white lawn empire dress on the chaise longue. She took the drink and savoured it. “I take it you will be visiting the Egyptian exhibition at the British Museum? I do hope so. I have wanted to go there for some time. We could all go together; it would be good for the children. Darcy is always worrying about the children’s education,” she said teasingly.

Darcy took the teasing in good part, having become accustomed to it in the years of his marriage.

“By all means,” he replied. “It would be interesting. The children have never seen the Egyptian exhibits and I think the older children in particular will be interested to see the Rosetta Stone. Did you not acquire some prints of the Stone, Edward? I seem to remember you thinking you might be able to decipher the hieroglyphs.”

Edward laughed.

“You are quite right,” he said. “I was so excited by news of the discovery that I set to work right away, alas to no avail. It seemed as if it would be so easy, the Stone having the same message written in three different languages, one of them being the hieroglyphic language. But even understanding the other two languages was no help. Messages written in letters are one thing; messages recorded in pictures are quite another.”

“There is no shame in having failed,” said Darcy. “Better…” He stopped suddenly.

“Better minds than mine have tried and failed?” asked Edward.

“I was not going to say that,” said Darcy.

Elizabeth and Edward both gave him a disbelieving look and he laughed. “Very well, I was. I would like to see it again,” he mused. “I have not been to the Egyptian rooms for several years. When do you intend to go?”

“Tomorrow. I would be delighted if you would all accompany me. I have made an appointment to see Sir Matthew Rosen, but it should not take long. I would enjoy showing you around.”

“I guessed as much,” said Darcy.

“Sir Matthew Rosen?” asked Elizabeth.

“An authority on Egyptian tombs and artefacts,” said Edward. “He has recently returned from an archaeological site near Cairo and I am anxious to talk to him.”

“Then it is settled; we will visit the museum tomorrow. I am already looking forward to it,” she said, her eyes sparkling.

She stood up as the gong for luncheon sounded in the hall, and the two gentlemen sprang to their feet. As they moved toward the dining room, Edward excused himself for a moment in order to retrieve a letter from his room that his father had given him for Darcy. Not wishing to delay the others, he bounded up the stairs two at a time and raced along to his room. But he stopped as he neared the door and heard a voice whispering softly. He walked slowly to the room and looked in.

Margaret was standing by the window, holding something in her hand, and talking to herself.

“Margaret? Are you quite well, my dear?” he asked. The child’s soft brown curls were sticking to her face, which was flushed with heat. She turned at the sound of his voice.

“Oh, Cousin Edward, I was talking to your doll. She’s very sparkly.”

“Yes. Where did you find her?”

“I didn’t find her. L—”

The little girl frowned and he guessed she was trying to avoid mentioning her brother’s name. Edward was well aware of the fascination his leather bag held for certain members of the Darcy clan, and he smiled.

“Well, never mind. Do you like her? Her name is Aahotep.”

“Is it? She’s not very nice, is she? But I think she’s rather sad.”

“Why do you say that?” Edward asked, startled.

He had found the doll in the attic of his family home, along with several other artefacts his father had brought home from Egypt. It was of little monetary value, although the coloured glass made it look pretty.

“Because she was mean to someone and now she can’t say sorry although she wants to. And it’s making her mean toward other people. But I feel sorry for her.”

“Well, I expect she will feel better when she has had some lunch,” Edward said gently.

Margaret gazed at him with clear grey eyes.

“She’s a doll, Uncle Edward. She doesn’t get hungry.”

Edward smiled. “Well, I do and I am sure you do too. Come, let us leave Aahotep to ponder her evil deeds and go down to lunch, shall we?”

Margaret nodded and, taking his hand, was soon busily reciting the tale of her recent visit to Kent, where she had visited her great-aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Her unusually rosy colour faded rapidly and Edward dismissed it as a peculiarity of the very young. It was not until much later on that he realised he should have paid more attention to the littlest Darcy’s pronouncements, but by then it was too late.

Elizabeth woke the following morning with the feeling that something was wrong. At first she could not think what it was, but then she realised that no children were jumping on the bed or wriggling under the covers next to her.

She smiled as she remembered how horrified Darcy had been the first time the children had invaded their bedroom in the morning. He had been raised in a formal manner and he had seen his parents by appointment, usually for an hour after dinner, when he had recited whatever poem he had been learning or displayed his command of Latin. Then, having been smiled upon by his mother and inspired by his father, he had returned to the nursery, there to stay until the next appointed time. So when Beth had first toddled into the Darcys’ bedroom, having escaped her sleeping nurse, he had been torn between delight at seeing her waddling toward him and an uncomfortable feeling that she should have stayed in the nursery.